


Capricorn

by skaianettechsupport



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 09:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3285266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skaianettechsupport/pseuds/skaianettechsupport
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is detective inspector Terezi Pyrope, and you are in some serious shit.<br/>After a confrontation with New York gang, the Midnight Crew, DI Terezi Pyrope is taken hostage by infamous drug king pins, the Makaras. She soon comes to learn that she is now in the centre of a huge conspiracy. While she tries to crack the case from the inside, her partner, Jane Crocker, attempts to bust her out from the outside.<br/>-Book One-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Hell in a Handbasket

The world was a bright blur as the young detective inspector regained consciousness. She sat up quickly, causing a wave of pain, nausea and, cold sweat to overtake her. She rolled on to her side and emptied the contents of her stomach onto the cold, concrete floor. Her breath came in shaky gasps, the inexplicable pain in her abdomen subsiding. Again she tried to sit up, slower this time. She leaned back against the wall and rubbed her bright blue eyes in an attempt to clear them. After a moment the scene before her cleared and she could see where she was. A concrete cell block. There were no windows, the only way to see out was the wall of bars that separated her from the outside. Panic rose in her chest and her heart quickened. She had been captured. She pushed her fingers through her wavy red hair and tried desperately to recall the events preceding her capture. She winced as her fingers brushed past a split in her scalp. Clearly she had received a blow to the head and most likely a concussion. It would explain her memory loss and blurry vision. A click sounded somewhere outside her cell. The young woman froze and listened as the familiar sound of footsteps grew louder. A smaller than average man in a black suit walked up to the bars. There was just enough light to make out his face. He had a scar running from his forehead to his cheek that slashed down his left eye and an eye patch covering it. He smiled, showing off his slightly crooked teeth.  
"Hello, Slick. Long time no see." the detective inspector growled, her voice hoarse and gravelly.  
He smirked in response.  
"Wouldn't kill you to be a little nicer to the welcoming committee." Slick said, pulling a switchblade from his pocket and proceeding to pick his teeth with it.  
"What do you want with me? The department has turned a blind eye to the Midnight Crew's exploits for months now." she said, her voice a little stronger.  
Slick paused and wiped the blade clean on his pants.  
"You're really outta the loop, detective. The Midnight Crew ain't unemployed no more." he said, smiling at the red-head's reaction.  
"Get up, the boss wants to talk to you."  
Slick snapped his fingers and a small man with a key ring came and unlocked her cell door. She hauled herself to her feet, holding her side as she rose. The world began to spin around her as the pain once again bloomed beneath her fingers.  
"C'mon toots, I ain't got all day." the surly, New York gangster said, a hint of impatience seeping into his voice.  
The detective inspector took a deep breath and stood as upright as she could manage. She took a moment to straighten her coat collar and made her way to the door. Every inch of her body ached, but she grit her teeth and kept moving, willing the blackness that was beginning to crowd her vision away. Slick stepped to the side and let her by, looking her up and down as she passed. He had always been one to appreciate a pretty dame when the opportunity was presented. She did her best to ignore him while still remaining vigilant. She couldn't help but notice that he had failed to put away his weapon of choice, a fatally sharp switchblade.  
Slick escorted the detective inspector down a long corridor, jabbing his knife at her when a fit of coughing forced her to stop. The two pushed through a set of double doors and down another hall before stopping in front of a very old looking lift. Slick pulled back the grated doors and flicked his knife at the woman accompanying him. Quickly she stepped inside and waited as the gang member shut them both in. He pushed a button on the control panel and the lift shuddered into motion. The ride up didn't take more than a minute and soon they were stepping out into a large room. It became quickly apparent that she was being held in the bowels of a large warehouse, a seemingly abandoned one at that. He ushered the detective across the floor and up a flight of rickety metal stairs.  
"The boss's office is right down here." Slick said, steering her down a small, carpeted hallway.  
The young woman's palms began to sweat at the prospect of meeting her captor, but she forced herself to retain her composure. They stopped before a metal door with a frosted glass window. A dark purple zodiac symbol was painted on the glass. The detective inspector's breath caught in her throat. This wasn't good.  
Slick knocked twice on the door and the opened it, revealing the room's dark, smoky interior. He pressed his switchblade's tip into the small of her back, forcing her to step into the room. With one swift motion he drew back and closed the door behind her, leaving her alone with the two men in who occupied the room.  
"Well isn't this a motherfucking miracle." an abrasive, yet charismatic voice lilted from the murky black before her.  
"Makara." the detective growled.  
The figure across the room lit a match and held it to the end of his joint. He used the match to light a few candles that were sitting on the desk around him and blew out a cloud of smoke. He passed the joint to the man beside him, who also took a puff.  
It was easy to see the faces of the two men now. The both wore grey face makeup and had the same unruly mop of curly, black hair. These two were not unfamiliar to the detective. They were the Makaras, drug lords who's network of drug runners and lackeys was so extensive that they nearly always managed to elude the PD in her sector. They were near the top of every wanted list, highly dangerous criminals. And here was the top detective in the precinct standing in their office, a hostage.  
"Why don't you have a motherfucking seat, detective. You must be all up and hurting after what the Midnight Crew did to you." the younger Makara, Gamzee, said.  
The young woman straightened as much as possible and stubbornly remained standing.  
"That wasn't a motherfucking suggestion." the other Makara, Kurloz, said in a cold, silky smooth voice.  
She pressed her lips together and sat down in front of their desk. Kurloz handed the joint back to Gamzee, who grinned and flicked the ash into the floor.  
Your name is detective inspector Terezi Pyrope, and you are in some serious shit.


	2. The Midnight Crew

Deep in the heart of a once dank cellar there were four men. All wore the same black suit and fedora, blending them in with the dark room. There was an echoey click as one of the men hit a pool ball into one corner pocket.  
"Yes!" the man, a relatively short fellow with a facial scar and eye patch, hissed between his teeth.  
The tallest of the four, a burly man well over 6 feet, made an unimpressed sound and bent over the table. The scarred man leaned down beside the other as he lined up his shot.  
"Don't fuck up." he said quickly as the heavy set man took his shot.  
The scarred man lurched forward as he was struck across the head with a cue stick. He whipped around to face his assailant. Leaning up against the wall was a slender man of average height. He twirled the cue stick between his fingers as he raised a cigarette to his lips, barely giving the shorter man a passing glance.  
"The hell was that for, Droog?!" the shorter man yelled while stuffing his hat back over his now ruffled black hair.  
"You're messing up the game, Slick. It's irritating Boxcars." Droog said casually, nodding to the large man still hunched over the pool table.  
"Why do you care? You aren't even playing." Slick argued, clearly cross.  
Droog shrugged and blew out a cloud of smoke. The shorter man gripped his own cue stick and swung at the other man. The wooden rods collided with a loud crack. Droog turned his head ever so slightly and stared at Slick with an intense and dangerous look in his eye. The other two men, Boxcars and an amusingly short man of 4' 11" named Deuce, looked up sharply. Droog threw his cigarette to the ground and swung hard.  
With that the room exploded into action. Droog and Slick were locked in a grueling duel while the two neutral parties stood off to the side. They glanced st each other and shrugged before rushing into the fight. Boxcars swung upward, clipping Slick's hat and knocking it back into the floor. He grit his teeth and swung at Boxcars, taking his attention from Droog long enough for him to sweep the short man's legs out from under him. Slick hit the floor with a loud thud. He paused and reached beneath him, producing his now crumpled fedora. The small, fierce man glared up with his good eye and jackknifed to his feet. Boxcars grunted as he was hit in the stomach by Deuce, who was swinging frantically, just trying to be a part of the action.  
Slick was in mid-swing when the door creaked open. Everyone stopped dead and turned to look as two men stepped through the doorway.  
"How the hell did you boys find us." Slick asked, his upper lip curling enough to show his chipped, almost pointed teeth.  
"It was all too easy, motherfucker." said the first man.  
He was tall and lanky, they both were, though the first was a few inches shorter. He peered out from under his messy mop of hair and smiled, causing the two-toned grey makeup to crinkle around his lips. The young man reached into his coat pocket and produced a lighter. He tossed it to Droog, who had since produced an unlit cigarette.  
"We are Gamzee and Kurloz Ma-"  
"We know who you are. What, do we look like dumbasses or somethin'?" Slick interjected.  
"Now why the fuck would we think that?" Kurloz, the taller Makara, said in a sarcastic tone, his accent vaguely German.  
Slick opened his mouth to argue but dropped his gaze to the cue stick he still had firmly in his grip.  
"What do you want from us?" Droog asked, his tone casual yet dangerous.  
Gamzee's grin widened.  
"I thought you'd never up and ask."  
~~~ * ~~~  
It was early in the morning, 5 minutes before 6 to be precise, and DI Terezi Pyrope had just stopped to pick up a can of cherry coke on her way to work. She smiled. This was her favourite time of day. The air was cool against her bare face and the street wasn't unreasonably crowded. She sipped her coke and wrinkled her nose as the carbonation tickled her sinuses. Most people favoured coffee in the mornings, but in her opinion cherry coke was the best thing in the morning. Cherry anything was bound to be good really, except for cough medicine. She kept walking, her red boots scuffing along the pavement. Even though the city was notoriously busy, this particular part was always a bit quieter, and Terezi loved watching it stir to life every morning on her way to the office. She looked across the street to the seemingly endless rows of apartment buildings. Something glinted from an alley as she looked away, causing her to double take. She slowed to a stop and watched, wondering if it had just been her sleep addled brain messing with her. Against her better judgment she jogged across the street before stopping a few feet from the alley. Her hand brushed her long teal and red coat out of the way, revealing a thigh holster with her handgun securely held in it.  
"Hello?" Terezi called into the dimly lit space.  
She cautiously stepped forward, peering around the side of the building she was using as cover. A feeble cry came jolting out of the darkness. With a start, Terezi dropped her coke can and moved into the alley, her hand on the gun handle.  
"I'm with the PD, who's there?" Terezi said urgently, her head swiveling.  
"Hey there sweetheart." a cool, NY accent purred from behind her.  
She swung around, drawing her gun and flicking the safety off. Infront of her was a man, only a foot taller than herself, with one hand wrapped around a long cue stick and the other holding a lit cigarette. He looked her up and down, his expression giving nothing away. She kept the barrel of her gun pointed squarely at his breast pocket and backed away slowly. With a small oof she backed into a solid object. Slowly she looked over her shoulder. A tall, heavy set man looked down at her, a small grin on his face. She moved quickly back toward the first man. Crap, she thought. This was not on her agenda for today.  
There was a sharp whistling sound as the cue stick came flying towards her. She barely had time to look before it caught her in the ribs, the thick wooden end of it managing to crack one in two. Terezi doubled over, her side screaming in pain. She held her arm out in the first man's direction and fired rapidly three times. There was a loud cry as a bullet found its mark. She grinned and moved as best she could toward the mouth of the alley, only to have her path blocked by the larger man. She cursed under her breath and raised her arm to fire. There was a sharp crack and searing pain as something collided with her skull. Bursts of black and white dotted her vision as her legs gave way beneath her. The last thing she saw were the faces of the two men standing over her.


End file.
